#canvas handbag for girls

[hvecloset]

Discover the versatile and chic Box Handbag at The Hve Closet. Designed for fashion-forward individuals, this handbag combines functionality with elegance, perfect for every occasion. Shop now!

[skyeslittlecorner]

Oh no, everyone has great ideas and you turn them into such amazing stories 🥹 Love family stuffs ahhhhh 😩

How about the kings and their kids prepare for Mother's day? 👀 The kids ask for advices and join their dads in prepare them (...and the king's gifts too... if you know what I mean 👀👌👈)

I love bringing your ideas to life! And I'm glad that you entrust them to me, you don't even know what an inspiration it is, that I can write for you, and you like it. Stay amazing as always 🙏

Family time, let's go!

꧁:･ ✡ ･:꧂

Satan and the twins had some trouble with their gift for you. They said they wanted to do it themselves, without dad, because it would be a surprise for both of you. Of course, he agreed, but he still ordered the nobles to keep an eye on them. First they went to Sitri and wanted to paint the cups, but they broke them. Then they approached Paimon to make you your own stickers, but after half an hour, glitter was everywhere. Before they accosted anyone else, Astaroth intervened. He took them to the meadow (so they could run around and shake off some glitter) and only when they got tired did he start telling them about how their father was a child, when they were picking wild flowers for bouquets for you.

Satan himself will give you a box of mint-blueberry chocolates, which you regularly carved at 3 a.m. during your pregnancy, and a smirk with the words "I'm ready for round two." Of course, he pissed you off with that. And since he also brought good wine, get ready for the next five rounds.

Mammon and your little gang will present you with a whole collection of jewelry. You expected them to be pasta necklaces and modeling clay earrings, but of course you underestimated them. Pearl necklace, ruby bracelets, cufflinks with gold beads. Of course, they are made a bit crooked and clumsy, the younger the child the more so, but you and Mammon look like the proudest parents in the world. This is the only jewelry you want to wear.

From the king you will receive a beautiful silk set (actually five sets, each matching one piece of jewelry you received), underwear and a long dressing gown, (and a matching dress, shoes and even a handbag), which you will have to try out together.

Beelzebub loves scribbles, and so does his little girl! The card you will receive will be the messiest, most colorful conglomeration of colored tissue paper, photos and ribbons you could ever imagine. Beel made sure that there was no shortage of materials, so in one place you have shells from the Caribbean, a heart made of Chinese silk and amber with a fossil (where did they get it from? Did he really take your daughter for a walk around the world? You don't ask, you don't want to know the answer).

Beel will give you markers with edible icing. He had a great time with the little one, but now it's time for mommy to show off her artistic talent. Preferably on his body. You can trace his tattoos with a marker, or maybe write something new. He's ready to be your canvas all night long.

Your daughter has Leviathan’s perfectionism, but in a specific version that when daddy likes something, it means it's already perfect. Usually. Sometimes she says daddy has no taste, and that's the sassy part she inherited from you. She would spend a good week sitting in her father's office and embroidering a pillow as a gift for you, with small flowers, because she doesn't know anything else yet. Levi makes sure she doesn't gouge out her eye with the needle, and every time the needle almost pierces her finger, the thread pulls it back. He usually doesn't worry about it, let the child learn. This time he would prefer there was no blood on the embroidery because the gift for you has to be more perfect than anything else.

Leviathan will give you a choker, also embroidered, but with black thread on black material. You can read it only by touch. What does it say? Only you two know. It's so adjustable that it's perfect for both wearing and choking.

[nightlyrequiem]

Latrodectus

II. Fragmented

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

AO3

Latrodectus Mactans, otherwise known as the Black Widow, are known for their uncouth treatment of their partners. The 'widow' part of their name stemming from the common occurrence of the female devouring her partner after mating.

Tags/Warnings: Abduction, Violence, Emotional Manipulation, harassment, A Dabble of Psychological Torture, Drugging, Breaking And Entering, Fem!reader

================================================

Valeria learned to adapt, like any good animal. She mastered the art of mimicry, and her peers were none the wiser. She studied their faces and mannerisms and copied them to perfection. In hindsight it was pointless. Once puberty hit and she grew into her face and body nobody cared that there was something just a little off about her. Being pretty and physically developed meant she could get away with a lot more. No longer would she be shunned for her off putting ways. In fact, it just made her all the more desirable to her hormonal male peers. Their attention was wasted on Valeria, who spent most of her time chasing girls she found 'special.' Marie Sanchez turned out to be very unremarkable. Not as deity-like as Valeria thought she was. Then came Elle Minote, with her honey blonde hair and mousy round face. Her good looks rivaled Valeria's and she quickly swooped in to claim her. Crowning herself as Elle's best friend. 

Even before their friendship fell apart, Valeria's treatment of Elle was far from appropriate. She smothered her. Elle wasn't allowed to hang out with other people when Valeria was not pleasant. Elle wasn't allowed to have other friends. If she refused to stop hanging around them Valeria would throw guilt-tripping fits. Valeria would harshly criticize any boy Elle showed interest in. Making her feel foolish for even considering going out with him, why would Elle want a boy like that? She's far too pretty and likeable for someone about as interesting as a cheap handbag. Elle couldn't handle the overbearing weight of being Valeria's object of affection, though. She drifted away and found herself a boyfriend. Heartbroken and furious, Valeria vowed to ruin every relationship Elle ever got. It's not like she had any issues doing so. Boys are simple creatures after all.

You didn't eat the sandwich. Valeria stares at you with disappointment and you glower right back at her from the corner. Your skin is looking dull. Probably from the lack of nutrients and sunlight.

"Why are you being so difficult?" Valeria asks sharply. Why does she even bother with carefully handmaking your food if you're going to be so unappreciative?

"Why am I being so difficult?" You repeat. Voice hard with anger. "Gee, I don't know, maybe it's because you kidnapped me and locked me in a fucking cell!" Your hands grip your iron chain tightly.

"A cell?" Valeria scoffs incredulously. How dare you call this a cell. It's clean. You have a nice, soft bed with blankets. It's far more luxurious than any prisoner would get. She storms up to you and grabs your face. "You are so incredibly ungrateful." She whispers dangerously. Dilated eyes locked onto yours. 

You were an artist. In the background of one of your pictures, barely in frame, was a half-painted canvas. It took her a while of staring at the photo to realise you were painting a lamb. After some digging, she found out you did commissions. You didn't make a whole lot off of those though so to make ends meet you worked at a bar. Wasting your talents and life away serving up elaborate cocktails for ungracious patrons. Valeria became a regular. The bar was subpar and hardly worth the money she spent there but with you behind the chipping counter, illuminated by the sickly glow of the old hanging lights, she could spare a few pesos.

Her blood pressure would spike every time a male patron would flirt. She seethed even more whenever you'd giggle or smile at whatever stupid remark they'd make. You were only doing it to get tipped, Valeria knew that, but it still angered her to no level. No man was deserving of you. They would never be able to appreciate all your little intricacies. Not in the way a woman could. Not in the way she could. She had to walk out one night when you were laughing a little too hard at something one of your coworkers had said. She crouched in the alley behind the bar, stiff with hatred, fingers clutched in her hair. She hated him and she hated you.

Your nails bite into the skin of her wrist. Valeria shakes her arm harshly before grabbing your wrist and wrenching your hand away. Your nails scrape against her flesh as they're moved away. Leaving thin raised lines in their wake.

"I could show you what a cell really looks like." She growls. "I could leave you in a cold, dark, damp room. No bed, no toilet, maybe I should let you starve too." Valeria feels hurt that you are comparing your room to a cell. You're throwing her hospitality back into her face. She's doing her best with a shitty situation. She sees the fear coursing through you. The way your brows twitch down and the way your breathing hitches.

"Why are you doing this to me?" You ask. Your voice breaks, a warning that you're going to start crying. "... Is it sex you want?" Valeria releases your face. She has to take a step back to stop herself from slapping you. She already explained everything to you. Are you stupid?

"No." She snaps. Glaring at you. "I already told you why I'm doing this."

"You don't love me, don't stand there and try to convince me you do." You hiss. You press close to the wall.

Valeria is appalled by your words. She hates it when people try to claim to know what she feels. They could never begin to understand her feelings. Not even her parents could begin to understand it. The violent screaming and crying fits followed up by weeks of numbness. Valeria loves you so much that she didn't give up after you turned her down. She has so many plans for your life together. She takes a deep breath to calm herself down. Those plans won't ever come true if she kills you.

"I know this is scary and that you don't understand," She explains slowly. "but I am doing what's best for you." And, what's best for her. She can't function like she needs to when she's constantly on the verge of snapping. All because the woman she wants isn't hers.

You aren't receptive to her words at all. You put your face in your hands. Your body is so tense that she can see a slight quiver in your shoulder.

"Let me OUT!" You screech. You throw your back against the wall and scream. Hands sliding up your face and into your hair. "Let me go you fucking PSYCHO!" You claw at your own arms and hyperventilate. Valeria watches silently. She knows you'll scream your vocal cords raw for the next few hours then curl up in your bed, unmoving for the next few weeks. Your behavior is repetitive and resonates with Valeria in a way that nothing else ever could. She sees herself in your rage. In the intense anger you direct onto yourself. She turns and walks out of the room.

Your screeching stops being audible at the top of the stairs. She locks the basement door and walks into the living room and sits down on her expensive dark grey couch. Her back aches in protest. She didn't realise how sore it was until now. She leans back with a sigh. Silence rings loudly in her ears as she thinks. You've been here for a month now, yet you aren't warming up to her at all. Perhaps it's the lack of stimuli. Animals kept in captivity develop zoochosis when under stimulated. Her gaze shifts to the painting she hung above the mantel. The beady eyes of a lamb stare unfeelingly back at her. She taps her fingers on her knee. She commissioned that one from you. 

You're frustrated and need an outlet. Valeria understands that now. With you being so deprived of anything you enjoyed pre-capture you'll probably jump at the opportunity to do anything other than stare at the depressing stone walls of your room. Painting is a good way to relieve stress and it's also a good way to bond. The sun shines through the window. Warming the little lamb. Highlighting the delicate paint strokes. She imagines how you must've looked while painting it. An engrossed look on your face as you twist your wrist in a delicate arch to capture the soft woolly curls.

When she was in primary school, Valeria would eat alone at lunch. Kneeling in the itchy grass beneath a large tree. The grass would leave indents on her calves and thighs. She had to come up with ways to entertain herself. She would read, play with bugs, tear strips of bark from the tree that shaded her. For her twelfth birthday her mother bought her a small, coiled notebook. It was pink and had bees on it. The best part was that she didn't have to use it for school. She filled the lined pages with drawings. Some of her favourite memories are of her sketching away at lunch, tuning out the joyful noises of her classmates. She knows how good art can be for the soul.

She browses through the paint section at a small craft store and wonders if she should get you your own sketchbook. The thought is tempting, but she'd have to give you something to draw with and she's unsure if she wants to provide any potential weapons. The paintbrushes she's getting you is risky enough. Her eyes scan over the coloured tubes of acrylic. Each one fighting for her attention. The whole store smells faintly woody. It's a little disorienting. She grabs twelve colours. The basic ones as well as a few different shades. She grabs some canvases too and walks to the front to pay. The little old lady at the front gives her a judgmental look. Valeria doesn't break eye contact as she hands over the cash.

Back home, she sets down the art supplies on the dining room table. She spreads them out and inspects them. The paints, the canvases, the brushes. She can feel her own creative spark flaring up at the sight. She puts all of it back into their respective bags and carries them over to the basement. She sets them down by the door and continues further down the hall. She walks into her bedroom. The room is tidy and free of dust. The queen bed with its light pink sheets is made, the pillows arranged against the headboard with care and precision. The day is on the hotter end, and she's sweated through her shirt. Jeans and a black long sleave clearly weren't the way to go. She digs through her wardrobe and settles on a comfortable pair of black cotton shorts and a t-shirt made of a thinner material. She gives her reflection a quick check, admiring the tattoos visible on her arms. She quickly combs her fingers through her hair then walks back out.

She picks up the bags and walks down the stairs. She reaches your door and presses an ear against the wood. There's no screaming or crying. She unlocks your door and peers inside. The light is off, but your shape beneath the covers is slightly visible from the light behind her.  You don't so much as shift when Valeria steps inside and turns on the light. She spots a few red droplets over in the corner. She's worried for a second that you did something to yourself, so she sets down the bags and speeds over to you. She grabs the edge of your blanket and yanks it down. There are a few red scratches on your forearm already beginning to scab. She relaxes when she realises it's nothing serious. She will need to cut your nails though. 

Valeria looms over you as she softly calls your name. Trying to coax you into sitting up. Despite your eyes being closed she knows you aren't sleeping.

"Hey." She murmurs. Grabbing your shoulder and giving it a small shake. "I know you're awake. Come see what I got for you." For a few seconds you remain still. The prospect of receiving something intrigues you enough to open your eyes though. Valeria respectfully steps back and watches you sluggishly rise up. You focus your blank gaze on her and then to the bags behind her. Valeria turns and drags them towards you. Setting them beside the bed. She walks back and sits down on the ground. The cement in cool and pleasant against her bare skin. You lean over the edge of your mattress and look through the first bag. Fingers grasp the rough material of a canvas, and you pull it out.

Valeria stares at you intently. Trying to discern what you're feeling. She feels frustrated at the lack of reaction. You hold the blank canvas in your lap and simply stare at it. Valeria decides it's because you're picturing what you could paint. You set it down to the side and to Valeria's pleasure, continue to look through her gifts. You take your time looking at the other canvases and all of the paints. At the sight of the brushes, you seem to perk up. She bought you ten, wanting to give you a little variety. You hold the largest brush and turn it over. Inspecting it at every angle. You softly trail a finger down the wooden handle. Raising your head, you lock eyes with Valeria.

"I know you liked to paint." Valeria says calmly. You look cute like this. You're not baring your teeth in a gleeful grin but Valeria can still tell you're happy and for that she feels smug. A month without anything for entertainment means anything new will seem far more interesting than it normally would.

You look back down at the paintbrush and Valeria takes the opportunity to approach. She shuffles over and rests an elbow on your bed. You look back at her and she gazes at you. Feeling awed by the sight of you. She has you within her grasp.

"I did." You murmur. Eyes glazing over as you retreat into your head. "I was - am - good at painting." You tell her. 

"I'll go get a cup of water; we can paint something now if you want." She says. Hoping you can't hear the satisfaction in her voice. You nod. Features soft for the first time since she took you. Valeria smiles and gets up, leaving your room. She doesn't bother locking the door. She won't be long.

Valeria hurries back down to you. Spilling some of the water on the stairs in her haste. You're sat on the floor with your paints spread out around you. Valeria realises that she forgot a palette. You don't seem to care though. You're hunched over a canvas. Dipping one of the brushes into a small splotch of green you just squirted onto the cement floor. Valeria feels the need to grab a rag and wipe it off, but she can't do it when you're finally starting to warm up to her. Valeria sits down across from you and places down the water cup between you two. Eight brushes sit off to the side and Valeria grabs one and a canvas. Starting her own painting.

Her eyes periodically shift back up to you. You're so focused that you don't take notice. Valeria is glad. She doesn't normally feel embarrassed but there's something vulnerable about painting the woman she loves. She does her best to mix colours to perfection. She remembers the detail and texture you created for the lamb painting. She tries to imitate it. To give your skin and hair life.

"Hey... Valeria?" You speak. She looks up again and stares. "... I need your opinion on something, could you come here and look at this?" Valeria sets down her canvas and moves towards you. Twisting awkwardly to look at your painting. It's a beautiful, lush landscape. She can see the brushes in her peripheral. She can hear your slightly fast breathing.

"I was wondering if I should add a cabin." She glances at the brushes again. Seven lined up side by side. She furrows her brows.  

"Um... Yeah a cabin would look nice." There should be eight.

The first time Valeria was ever stabbed was during an offence mission. She was cornered by an enemy. The feeling of his steel blade passing through the flesh and tendons of her hand didn't hurt as much as she imagined it would. It didn't hurt much at all. It just felt cold. Maybe because of the adrenaline rushing through her at the time. The rattling of your chain is the only warning she gets before the jagged edges of broken paintbrush pierce through her arm. You were quick but Valeria was quicker. Had she not blocked your attack you would've stabbed her in the side of the neck. 

The wood drags against her skin, leaving slivers as you pull it out to stab at her again. Valeria roughly grabs your arm and wrestles you into submission. You struggle and cry. Writhing beneath her. She squeezes your wrist until you're forced to let go of the paintbrush. Red runs down her arm. Dotting your painting with little red puddles. Valeria's movements are fluid and smooth as she wraps her hands around your throat. You wheeze and feebly try to fight back but Valeria only tightens her grip. Valeria feels betrayed and hurt. You attacked her, after she tried to do something nice for you, you attacked her. You start going still when she suddenly releases your throat. She glares down at you as you pant and cough. Her heart is hammering. Valeria needs to leave before she kills you. She aggressively grabs the paintbrushes and storms out of the basement. Locking the door behind her. She's given you too many chances. You're starting to run out.

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (23) Apology

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter23)

Summary: Rosie shares a surprise with her parents and uncle. All of them have different thoughts about this unexpected development, and silent negotiations are carried out.

Twenty-Three Years Old

I knew that Papa not fully understood my reason for studying international politics and data, but to his credit he didn’t for one second try to convince me to give it another thought and opt for something science related instead. Dad was just relieved that I’d finally had found a path to walk, after several failed attempts. Uncle Myc, well he tried to hide how utterly pleased he was with my choice, but by now I knew him well enough to read the signs. Truth be told, said signs weren’t that subtle.

“Bien choisi ma chérie,” he beamed at me, while Papa scowled at him.

“Merci oncle,” I retorted. “I can’t wait to start this and go to Paris.”

The three-year BA degree was taught by The University of London Institute in Paris. We would be taught in English, but if we had an A level in French, we could also take French courses. I’d learned French in school for years, and uncle Myc and I often conversed in French when uncle Greg wasn’t around.

I think it’s needless to say that my security and comfort in France was well taken care of. Papa and uncle Myc had a conversation using their eyes only when I spilled the beans. Dad knew exactly what was going on and went to make tea while negotiations were carried out. Once the brothers were satisfied, uncle Myc took out his phone and sent several texts or emails. By now, I knew it’ll be futile to pester any of them of what was going on. I was just relieved that no one had tried to talk me out of it, making me feel uncertain or guilty for leaving the country; actually, moving out of my childhood home.

My reasons for choosing this subject were multifaceted. I’d always enjoyed learning facts, obscure and otherwise, about different countries and cultures. Having had a relatively unorthodox upbringing, containing all sorts of people, played a big part too. The cherry on top was that the school was abroad. Nana’s tales of her experiences overseas and how educating it is to have lived some time in another country and society, had always seemed enticing to me.

***

The university was situated close to the Invalides and the Seine, while my lodgings were in the Charonne area in the 11th arrondissement on a cosy cobble street, with a nearby metro station. My landlady, Marguerite Vachon was one of uncle Myc’s acquaintances, from where, I still have no idea. 

Marguerite preferred that I used her given name instead of the formal, Madame Vachon.

“Je ne suis pas ancient,” was her favourite line and reminded me quite a lot of Nana.

“I am not ancient, dear,” was a statement Nana had used every so often.

Marguerite was a petite and elegant woman. Her hair was cut in a bob, coloured black with a few red stripes. I never saw her without lipstick or makeup. She always wore bespoke dresses and high heeled shoes. I deduced that she was far more than a landlady. When I left for school in the morning, I could hear her sing or talk on the phone, and when I returned, she always opened her door and inquired about my day.

“She’s clearly spying for Mycroft,” Papa’s voice told me.

And there was something about her, which I couldn’t put my finger on. Something mysterious, secret, perhaps even dangerous. 

***

It seemed like Marguerite had my schedule memorised. Not that I’d given her the information, but when she slipped, I got my suspicions confirmed. To be fair, it wasn’t slipping per se. She couldn’t have known that class was dismissed early that day.

Luckily, I spotted her and was able to hide behind a wall before she saw me. I’d almost missed her, because she wasn’t wearing her normal dress and high heels, but red trousers, a white and blue-striped jumper, and white trainers. Instead of one of her posh handbags, she had a dark blue canvas bag diagonally draped over her chest.

Papa had taught me a few tricks when it came to the fine art of following people without being discovered. I’ve never had much use of them obviously, but now I saw an opportunity. How I would explain this and apologise if I was caught, never crossed my mind.

I was sceptical when Marguerite walked to the metro station, but I was able to get into the same carriage as her, and it seemed that she had no idea she was being followed. She got off three stops later and walked in the direction of the big Père-Lachaise cemetery.

A fitting location for obscure and shady affairs.

Marguerite knew where she was going, walking briskly but not hurried. I had walked the premises several times before and knew where she was headed when I saw the grand tomb of Sir Richard Wallace, the British baronet who contributed millions to the Parisian poor during the Siege of Paris in the early 1870s.

This reeked of another posh Brit I knew.

When Marguerite had placed a folder by the tomb and another woman picked it up five minutes later, I had a hard time keeping myself composed. The woman picking up the folder was the French equivalent of Anthea.

I sent uncle Myc a text when both women were out of sight.

Thanks for keeping track on me, but this thing is like being part of a French noir film. You can tell Papa I think you’re both growing sentimental, and I demand an apology!

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

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[leeminuwu]

MY HAPPY MARRIAGE | Gojo Satoru

—In which the disgraced older daughter of a small clan gets an offer from the strongest sorcerer in the world, an offer she can't refuse, an unusual prospect of marriage.

Author's Note: Hello, this is my first ever fanfiction. I might make some errors but I will do my best to make this reading experience as amazing as possible. This story is very close to my heart and was inspired by a manga of the same name. Please give Chihaya and Gojo lots of love. I will be uploading on Wattpad and ao3 as well !

TW : domestic violence, physical abuse, suicidal ideation, suicide, self harm, 18+ themes | minors dni

pairs : gojo satoru x fem!oc, slight!geto suguru x fem!oc and slight!sukuna x fem!oc

CHAPTER ONE : THE TALENTLESS MAIDEN

WHEN THE NEWS of her mother's demise reached Chihaya Furukawa, she was returning from work, stumbling through the office hours crowds of Chiba station. It was just another Wednesday for her. Yet the news had turned her very mundane day upside down. Her knees wobbled as the weight of her handbag seemed to weigh her down. Strange. She wondered. She never thought, she would be affected by the demise of the woman who claimed to never have loved her.

Yet, she persisted. Returning to her quaint flat, she cleaned her room thrice over the course of four hours, claiming that it would bring her the very peace of mind she needed. However peace had always been unkind and fleeting for the eldest daughter of the Furukawa clan.

It was her brother's hoarse voice that plagued her. She is gone. Mother is dead. That is what Makoto Furukawa had only told. There were no explanations regarding the nature of her death, no illness. The lady of the house was known to be a fierce woman of sheer fortitude. Her bloodline was from the prestriged Machi clan of the Jujutsu World. She seldom suffered from illnesses. Then how?. Then how did mother pass? The rational part of her brain mulled. But for Furukawa, despite her unyielding curiosity, an air of uneasiness seemed to surround her very being. Hence, that evening she spent lying on her bed, looking at th the starless sky through the window beside her bed, hoping to see traces of her mother's pleasent memory. However, there seemed to be none.

Chihaya Furukawa wanted to grieve that day but she didn't know how.

_______

SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO

The Furukawa household lived in traditional Japanese houses, while a significant of their wealth, the walls were too thin to contained the cries of a child. Hence, Chihaya had learnt the ways of suppressing her cries in order to spare her tiny hands from becoming the canvas of her father's wrathful showerings. As if she hadn't gone through countless punishments from him already.

Haruto Furukawa hated wailing children more than he hated weaklings. A self made Jujutsu Sorcerer, he had single handedly uplifted his rather downtrodden clan's glory in his generation, especially among the council of elders. For a man like him who had slain countless screeching courses, cries of children seemed like a deterrent to his focus, and his hard earned peace.

Hence, when a ten year old Furukawa sat with cane marks littered all across her petite arms. Her mother wordlessly, applied ointments on them.

In her eyes, there was no love or hate.

Patching up her wounded child, was just another segment of her duty that she would fulfill as the lady of the house.

"If only you weren't so talentless, father would be much kinder to you" Young Makoto, who was two years her junior quipped from her another corner of the room. "He only disciplines you because you can't even perform a basic curse technique even at this age" He snickered, giggling in his joy of being the prodigy of the family. A true Furukawa. Who would carry the fire manipulation technique of the family foreword.

Tears had formed in the young girl's eyes, as the pain of her wounded hands seemed to seep through the barrage she had created in her mind for all the terrible memories.

A tear drop rolled down her cheek and fell on her arm.

"Crying won't make you useful, Chihaya. Only those who are dutiful or strong get their respects" Her said in a voice loud enough only for the young girl to hear, tighning the bandage on her wrist. "You are weak, hence, you must be dutiful. It is the only way you will ever be respected by others. Jujutsu is not the only way to carry on your family's legacy. Being a proper lady and a good wife in the future is a great duty to shoulder for us women as well"

Chihaya could merely stare at her mother with glassy eyes, her lips parted in disbelief. She cry, scream, throw her arms and legs around—just to let her mother know about the pain she'd been harbouring since the past couple of years.

When Lady Furukawa spoke, the dying sunlight of the waning dusk seemed to illuminate her face through the window. In that light she looked like a divine being of great knowledge of the world. In that light Chihaya could see the tirednes that had dawned on her eyes. In that light, the eldest Furukawa daughter realised—that even if she cried her lungs out, her mother wouldn't care.

____________

PRESENT DAY

Despite the baleful and uncharacteristic news of death she'd received the previous day, Chihaya had arrived to work the next morning. Wearing her usual smile for her co-workers and her students. As a kindergarten teacher, she felt a sense of duty to not let the children experience residues of the mishaps in her life. However that task seemed to become excruciatingly difficult for the young woman as her head throbbed due to lack of sleep.

"It is quite odd isn't it" Aoi commented, as the duo continued with the final touch ups of the playroom before the kids arrived. Aoi Higuchi had been a faithful ally to Chihaya during her short career at the kindergarten. Perhaps the only friend she had left now.

"What is it Higuchi San?" Chihaya asked, turning to see that her co-worker looking wistfully at the open windows.

"I don't know if it's the weather or not, but usually at this time, we have more birds around don't we?" It was an odd observation, but a poignant one. The kindergarten was located in the suburbs and around a plethora of trees. It was not uncommon to have birds chirp away through the morning. Yet that day, there was hardly a sound.

It was an uncharacteristically peaceful morning.

"Perhaps it is the terrible weather" Chihaya chuckled, "I read somewhere that climate change has had quite an impact on the local birds of Japan, let alone the migratory ones" she thought out loud, with a finger on her chin.

Aoi sighed, "Yeah, you're perhaps right" the brunette haired coworker shrieked as she looked at the large clock ticking to 10am, "Oh boy, I am late again—i gotta get the kids from the assembly hall. Can you finish up stacking these colouring books for me?"

"I got this" Chihaya reassured with a smile, "you can go get the kids"

"You're the best Chihaya Chan!"

The young woman giggled at her friend's compliment as she moved to pick up the colouring books left scattered around the room from the previous day's activities. She hummed a tune of the song she'd heard at the subway so often, a song she forgot to seek out the name of. Perhaps once I go home, I'll Google the lyrics I remember? She wondered, trying to push away the gloomy thoughts from her mind. I should probably ask Aoi San for her Spotify playlist, I think I'll surely find it there. She does hav—

BA DUM!

BA DUM!

Her head throbbed, as her knees felt heavy. Chihaya could feel a certain nausea bubbling up her chest as dizziness took over.

What the —

Images passed by her vision of a time unknown. It was as if a book of memories had been reopened. She could see her dainty classroom full of children, bustling with joy and clamour of young child. She observed, through her mind's eye a scene, as one of the young children named Akito dropped his water bottle as her drank from it, soaking the floor. She watched as the water water spread throughout the back of the class, whilst she and Higuchi were looking away in the scene playing out. She watched as the water reached the feet of an overzealous child and as he fell after slipping on the growing puddle. Cries erupted as the child cried whilst rolling on the floor, catching both the teacher's attention.

And then the scene ended.

It was like a premonition. A waking dream. A phenomenon she had never encountered. Perhaps it's the caffeine. She thought to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. For a second, Chihaya felt like she was on some terrible LSD trip. The girl then concluded that tiredness seemed to have gotten the best of her, and that she would take a leave for the rest of the week in order to return home and pay her final respects to her dearly departed mother. I need that closure to be same again.

Chihaya looked at the colouring books that she had stacked up, lying scattered on the floor yet again. Her knees had given away and she'd ended up sitting down with folded legs, as her arm supported her tired form. Her breathing was heavy, and sweat dripped from her brow.

There goes my makeup.

Looking at the clock that stood at only 10:04am, Chihaya wondered if it was only her who felt like her daydreaming had taken forever to end. While in reality it had hardly been four minutes since Aoi had left to fetch the children. Four minutes. Shit. They'll be here any minute.

The woman picked up each book gingerly, placing them one on top of the other roll number wise, as she continued to final preparations for her classes to begin.

Just when she slid the last box onto the playroom shelves, she heard the door slide open, and a cacophony of voices followed suit. Young children with blue hats and yellow bags huddled into the classroom with big smiles on the face, while some had glassy eyes due to crying before coming to school. Chihaya smiled, as she stood up to take her position by the front of the class, her hands clasped to her lap, a bright smile on her face.

"Good morning everyone!" She beamed, while the kids to their seats on the little desks.

"Good morning miss Furukawa!"

"Good morning!"

"Good morning sensei!"

Greetings poured in as the class filled up to it's full capacity. Chihaya's heart often swelled with pride as she would see the children under her care develope a comely nature with good manners. She felt like her duty to the next generation was fulfilled in a way. Despite it's hardships, she loved being a teacher. It was all she ever wanted to be, and even though she dream was realised later in her life, she was glad that she could live with certain contentment atleast.

"Please settle down" she chided the kids who were still jumping on their chairs around at the back of the class, as Higuchi caught then by their uniforms and tried to call them down.

"Woah there Akira, you will hurt yourself if you keep jumping around like that" Higuchi told the young boy, keeping a close eye on him as he took is seat with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "sorry sensei" he giggled. He was totally going to jump on his chair again.

"Let's finish the colouring we started yesterday okay?" Chihaya clapped to draw in their attention, "and today, we will learn how to draw and colour the rainbow!"

"I love rainbows sensei!"

"Mee too"

"So do I"

"No; they are my favourite"

The woman chuckled as she tuck the stray strands of her hair behind her ear. "Well I love rainbows too Mirai Chan" she went around the desk of the girl who had exclaimed first in delight, "Rainbows appear once the skies clear after rain"

"Mom says, rainbows signify hope and new beginnings" young Mirai added on enthusiastically, "Is that true sensei?"

The woman could only smile.

Hope.

Chihaya Furukawa could scoff mentally. She would give anything to be hopeful again. Hope to her were the dying embers of joy in her mothers eyes. Her hopes seemed to have died in her youth, and her mother's death seemed to make her new beginnings in Chiba seem like an uncertain path.

"Your mother is absolutely correct" Chihaya forced a smile, breaking away from her thoughts. The children shouldn't sense my grief. It would not be fair to them. Turning her back. Her pretended to write on the whiteboard. Her free arm balled into a fist by her side as she gritted her teeth and took a deep breath and faced the children, "Now, let us begin the class"

__________

Half of the day had gone by and at 12:00pm, during the lunch break the children played around in the classroom as Chihaya decided to spend her free time keeping her eye on the boys of the class, wary of her daydream. No child is getting injured on my watch.

"You aren't gonna eat?" Higuchi propped herself beside the younger woman, with her arm resting on her face.

"I'll eat later" Chihaya reassured with a small smile. Turning back to monitor the children.

"If you don't mind me saying Chihaya chan, something about you doesn't feel quite right" The Furukawa girl was startled by the sudden comment about her disposition from her friend. Higuchi had been perceptive certainly, however Chihaya was also a very suppressive person. It was difficult to read her poker face, let alone know what was going on in her mind. Or so she believed.

Her lips parted in surprise. Clearing her throat she looked away from the older woman, "You are a worry wart Higuchi San, I am completely fine"

"You always lie when you don't meet my eyes"

Chihaya turned to look the woman deep in her embony eyes, "I am fine. Trust me"

Silence. Aoi Higuchi was no fool Chihaya envisioned her to be.

"You know you could talk to me anytime right?" She mumbled, sensing the younger woman's discomfort as she hummed in response. "I hope your ex finance is not troubling you again"

Chihaya could choke at the unwarranted comment, as she coughed her water out of her wind pipe. "You still are the same, senpai. Your lack of tact is impeccable" she laughed nervously, wiping the water that had dropped on her trousers.

"If Naoya San was troubling me, I would have left Chiba long back" Chihaya chuckled half heartedly.

Higuchi stood up swiftly, and grabbed hold of chihaya's hands, earning a yelp from the younger girl, "If that bastard happens to pop in here, you have nothing to fear, my brother knows the local delinquents quite well! He will handle that man well"

Chihaya couldn't control her laugh. Oh senpai, delinquents would be target practice for that bastard.

"I am serious, Chihaya Chan! You don't worry"

"I could never, I know for a fact that I am in perfectly good hands" the woman smiled.

Chihaya saw the half empty water bottle on her table, as her head throbbed in realisation. Her daydream. She'd forgotten to keep an eye on the children, getting up from her seat, she scanned the entire room, to check if anyone was injured. To her cruel surprise Akito had dropped his water bottle by the door and was struggling to clean up his wet pants.

Chihaya rushed to help the younger boy. Her almost super human speed surprised Higuchi.

"Hey, hey, hey little guy. Are you okay?" She asked, soothing his back as he looked like he was about to cry. Before she could listen to his replies, she saw her daydream mimic itself in real life as Akira jumped around the water puddle on the verge of danger.

Hence, Chihaya ran again to the other child and swifty scooped him up in her arms before he could slip on the puddle.

"Akira, how many times I've told you not to jump around the class?" The woman scolded the young boy, as she placed him on the dry floor.

Tears formed in his eyes as he huffed with a pout.

"I was playin" he sniffled.

"I know but you have to be careful—"

BA DUM!

Her head throbbed yet again, as a stabbing pain pierced through her forehead to the back of head, compelling her to hold her head in pain.

"Sensei? Are you okay?" The child asked, fearful of her changed expression.

"Fine" Chihaya gritted her teeth, slowly removing herself from the the young boy, her instincts compelling her to run away from the room full of children. Yet the girl could barely move.

Soon the noise of the classroom was overpowered by the voices that rang in her ear.

Voices rang through her head, as memories flowed like an endless river infront of her eyes,"You'll never be a daughter to me" her father's eyes darkened as he raised his cane for another on of his punishments.

"Just marry her off to the highest bidding clan" she'd overhead her brother speaking with his father after her graduation.

"You're so talentless that you'd be better off dead" she remembered how the children of the high born Jujutsu families laughed at her inability to see curses at a young age.

"You're as pitiful as a dove with a broken wing. I don't know if I pity you or care for you" she remembered her first love, a man who had turned to darkness, his long dark hair wavering in the wind as his eyes dimmed of kindness.

What is happening to me? She could only think as memories flooded her being. A nauseating panic rising in her throat, as she felt that she was trapped inside a box being forced to relive every time she'd experienced pain.

The pain coupled with the haunting memories made the woman clasp her ears in a feeble attempt to salvage her sanity. The images of her dreary life flashed one after the other. Until at the end she saw her mother's comely face, and a scream erupted from her mouth coupled with uncontrollable tears. "Go to Chiba, and stay as far from this world as you can, hear me girl? I will arrange a job for you next semester in Hokkaido. To then, don't come back to Tokyo" Those were the last words she'd heard from her mother before she left home at the beginning of the semester.

Warmth engulfed her body, as Chihaya lost the track of time and space. The throbbing pain seemed to be getting worse along with the nausea and the dizziness and before she knew, the sights of her past darkened into her vision, as the unbearable pain sent her body into a shock.

And soon, Chihaya passed out.

________________

THREE DAYS LATER

Chihaya Furukawa hardly ever had a dreamless sleep. Her dreams would be ridden with imageries of the past and her greatest desires. However the girl often wised to have a dreamless sleep. Hence, when she woke up after her "episode" she was shocked and frankly terrified to find herself on a hospital bed with minimal clothes on.

Her vision was still not clear after the whole episode, as she rubbed them vigorously to focus on her surroundings. It couldn't be. Not after all these years. Is it a dream? It has to be a dream right? A myriad of thoughts ran through her mind as she realised her position. She was in a deep soup. Panic began to rise up her throat, as the uncanny familiarity of the pristine white hospital room reminded her of the last place she'd want to be—

Tokyo Metropolitan Cursed Technique college. Her old highschool.

In her feeble attempt, Chihaya endeavoured to run away. Carefully examining the room she found her clothes neatly folded on one of the empty couches, she slowly removed herself from the bedside, clutching onto the blanket to save the residues of her modesty as she tiptoed to her clothes and belongings.

I can't be here.

The young woman did not know what had transpired or how she'd managed to end up in Tokyo of all places. But in her gut she knew that it was her High school that she'd ended up at. There was no way she could forget the place. She remembered it at the back of her hand. However, a tinge of worry regarding her students and Higuchi remained. What happened? How did I end up here?

"Going somewhere?" A rather masculine voice broke her trance, as she froze on her path. Fuck. She should have known. They would have left some rando to look after her.

Chihaya let out a nervous chuckle, slowly turning to meet the man "I was just getting my clo—AH"

The girl shrieked as a tuft of white hair overwhelmed her sight. Her lips parted in sheer surprise, as horror dawned on her expression.

"Gojo Satoru"

"Hello, Chiyo chan" he said with the same old shit eating grin on his face, "Long time no see"

"What are you doing here?" She asked firmly, rather too firmly, almost as if she was reprimanding him for existing.

"Is that how you'd treat your knight in shining armour?" He faked a pout, and a hurt hand to his heart. "After all that I went through for you!"

Obnoxious as ever. Had Chihaya not been in such a sensitive situation, she would definitely roll her eyes.

However at the same time the girl hoped it was a bad dream, a terrible nightmare she would soon wake from. Yet alas, those prayers were futile as Gojo Satoru was standing in flesh infront of her eyes, and she could feel his gaze burrowing into her despite the bandages over his eyes. She knew that fate would bring her at crossroads with those she abandoned all those years ago. However she'd hoped it would be limited to her old close friends Shoko and Utahime. They would have been much easier to deal with albeit she did owe a lot of explanation to everyone. But not in a thousand years did she expect Gojo to be the first one to confront her after eleven years since she last saw him. Let alone when she was practically naked. She tightened the grip around her blanket, her cheeks growing flushed in embarassment.

When the young woman stood transfixed in sheer shock Gojo could only laugh at her state, running his hands through his hair. He walked towards the girl peering down at her, his face much closer to her's.

Chihaya wanted to combust as she felt his breath fanning her cheek, which had warmed into a deep scarlet hue.While her brain unable to process what in the hell was going on.

"Cat caught your tongue, Chiyo chan?" Gojo smiled, as she felt him studying her face intently, "Its a shame, I have to wait till our wedding to see you this flustered" He let out a hearty chuckle.

Wait a minute.

OUR wedding?

Gojo and Me?

Me and THE Gojo Satoru?

Chihaya swore her brain had short circuited with that information. However her lips moved almost instinctively to that information.

"No way in hell am I marrying you" Chihaya spat with the meager courage she had left in her, talking a step away from the much larger man.

Gojo let out a dry laugh. He was amused.

"We'll see about that"

In a matter of seconds, Gojo's finger was positioned on her forehead as she watched him murmur a technique and before she could even realise, Chihaya had dropped unconscious in his arms.

Part 2

Thank you for reading this story, do reblog to support me! I am still learning to use Tumblr so apologies in advance for any mistakes I make! I am open to being guided through comments and dms! Thanks ☺️

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

No More Hiding

Things get a little uncertain for Father Paul and you, after you are caught red handed by no one other than Beverly Keane.

Requested by anonymous

I'm back and I am healthy (almost). I got a bit out of practice, so this may be a little wonky, but I hope you'll forgive me :) Also, please check out this post, I am open to some nsft Father Paul content, teehee.

No More Hiding - 3.7K

tw: suggestive themes (mention), humanising Beverly Keane, cheesy as heck, a lot of triple dots

What is it with priests on Crockett Island? Beverly thought, gravel crunching underneath her feet as she walked away from Saint Patrick’s church hastily. Bev Keane was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them - she was aware there was some funny business going on with the young priest who arrived on Crockett almost a year ago and that writer lady, but she could never be entirely sure. Until today, that is. Bev felt a fresh wave of anger as she remembered the scene she witnessed no more than ten minutes ago.

—

How could she have forgotten her bag? Bev shook her head at herself. She went home after wrapping up the daily mass on Saturday, and when she tried to reach into her handbag to pull out the keys to her home, she froze. There was nothing hanging on her shoulder. How did she not notice? In her head she suddenly saw the image of her bag, sitting on a table in the back of the church, entirely forgotten. With a sigh and an eye roll, Bev turned around and began walking towards Saint Patrick’s again.

She entered through the back door, and immediately saw her canvas bag, exactly where she’d left it. After grabbing it, Beverly was just about to go home again, but then:

A giggle.

A soft, feminine giggle sounded from the main room of Saint Patrick’s. Curious as to what’s going on there, The teacher crept towards the door leading to the front and put her hand against the handle. Very, very slowly, she pushed it and pulled the door open, just a little. She peeked out. The sight before her shook her to the core and Bev felt fury immediately settling in.

Sitting in a pew closest to the altar was Father Paul, still in his green chasuble, and next to him was (F/N)(L/N). Which, Beverly supposed, would be fine, if the priest (the PRIEST for goodness sake!) wasn’t currently pushing his tongue into her mouth and her hands weren’t messing up his raven hair. The teacher was frozen to the spot as she watched the two people exchanging passionate kisses, sometimes producing soft pleasured hums. What finally snapped Bev out of her shock was the sight of Father Paul’s hand settling on (F/N)’s knee, before pushing her skirt up as it moved forward onto her thigh.

Beverly pushed the door open all the way and coughed loudly. With malicious satisfaction she watched the couple practically jump away from each other and turn their heads in her direction, their eyes widening in horror. “B-Bev?!” yelped the priest, his face turning red, as did the young woman’s. “T-this- this isn’t what it looks like!” his hand, which left the girl’s thigh was now outstretched towards Beverly in a surrendering manner. Despite the furious storm within her, the teacher felt strangely calm as she took calculated steps towards the couple.

“Father, if you insist on indulging yourself in breaking your holy vows, it’d be nice if you had at least enough respect not to do so in God’s house,” she said, her voice cold as ice, her expression stony. The priest coughed: “Bev I-...W-we were just-” “ Don’t! Don’t… ” the teacher hissed and began walking off through the front of the church,clutching her bag in a vice grip. She shut the door with a bang.

Father Paul watched Beverly leave and winced as the old wooden doors banged shut. You then saw him wilt before your eyes. He put his elbows on his knees and placed his face in his hands. Your own hand found his shoulder and began stroking it, trying to comfort him, despite knowing that not even your touch would be able to comfort him now. Still, the priest leaned into your hand and soon raised his head to hide his face in your neck instead. You slowly stroked the hair at the nape of his neck.

“We’re screwed,” said Paul against your skin, his voice soft and tired. “Yeah,” you whispered back.

—

Bev’s idea of going home was long forgotten as she stalked across Crockett Island, glaring daggers at everyone who dared as much as acknowledge her, the teacher was seething with rage. What was it with priests on Crockett Island? She knew the old Monsignor Pruitt hadn’t exactly been celibate either, and that the island’s doctor Sarah Gunning had been the result. She found out during one of Monsignor’s episodes, when he’d weep softly and call for Mildred, apologising for not having been there for her. For their daughter.

Back then, she acknowledged this, not knowing how she felt about it. On one hand, the Monsignor went against his vows, sired a child who was then raised by a different man, and obviously never stopped lusting for said man’s wife. On the other hand, what was there to be done now? The Monsignor was old and frail, dementia claiming his mind little by little, and Mildred Gunning? Well, she was in no better state. George Gunning was long gone and Sarah was a grown woman, who grew up in a happy family with a loving mother and father, blissfully oblivious she was the illegitimate child of their local priest.

However, it was different now. God, Bev wished she hadn’t forgotten her bag in the morning. Suspecting something fishy is going on is better than actually knowing it - makes it easier to ignore. But now she knew. She knew Father Paul, a priest who was supposed to be Crockett Island’s spiritual leader, image of morality and virtue, was fornicating with a heathen, a faithless woman, who like a succubus seduced the holy man to sin.

Bev was already forming a plan in her head, a plan to inform the dioceses about the blasphemy happening right there in God’s house, if not to outright get the priest excommunicated, to at least stop this illicit affair. But then she heard a sound behind her, a girl’s high-pitched laughter. She turned around.

What she saw made her stop. It was Leeza Scarborough, laughing and squealing as she drove circles around Warren Flynn on his own bicycle. The youngest Flynn was looking at her fondly, his gaze filled with pride: “I told you you could do it!” Oh… Leeza regained the feeling in her legs during one of Father Paul’s sermons. Since then, she came out of her shell so much, yet she still remained a good, devoted Christian, never missing a single daily mass. She was smiling and laughing more, but still she prayed harder than anyone else. She even found it in her heart to forgive Joe Collie, the man who crippled her in the first place! Beverly would never!

Speaking of Joe Collie, Bev only now realised she was standing a short distance away from the general store, where said man was currently chatting up their Muslim sheriff. After Leeza forgave the town drunk, he… he actually stopped drinking. He began attending the AA sessions Father Paul started, along with Riley Flynn, and while Bev was sure he was bound to relapse, to her utmost surprise he actually stayed sober since then. He looked a little different, his clothes were cleaner, his hair and beard neater. He even started working again, on one of the fishing boats. He looked like he dropped a few pounds too. The biggest change was his face. He too was smiling more.

Bev bit her lip, deep in thought, reminiscing of the past year. Since Father Paul came to the Island, there was a change in atmosphere. After Leeza’s recovery, it was like a religious renaissance had happened. The church was usually nearly full on Sundays and more people started attending daily mass as well, Bev had to start ordering more than double the usual amount of communion wine and hosts, and even had to get some low-gluten wafers after several inquiries. Some of the people who moved away after the spill actually came back to their old homes, because the fishermen began returning from the sea with full nets of fish and crabs, just like they used to many years ago. The community was blooming.

The teacher looked around. In the gazebo of Crockett Island’s little park sat Riley Flynn with Erin Greene and her daughter… Their daughter, essentially. The child wasn’t Riley’s, yet he treated her as his own, loved her as his own blood. He moved into the Greene home and Annie even mentioned once that Erin was in the middle of divorcing her ‘nasty work of a husband’ so she could marry Riley instead, so they could become a proper family once and for all. The little girl, whom Riley Flynn was currently bouncing on his knee, had two godparents, and since only one of them had to be a practising catholic, it was Ed Flynn and the other was nobody else than (F/N)(L/N).

(F/N) had also started to help out in the school, taking upon herself some of Erin’s classes so the woman could focus on her little girl. The children actually really liked her. Bev would often hear laughter from the other classroom and most of the kids left it with a smile on their faces. When she wasn’t helping Erin, she was usually helping someone else, assisting Sturge in some maintenance work, helping Annie with inventory in the general store, even joining the Flynn men for a few fishing trips! Bev saw her once at the docks, and had to admit the young woman looked quite the natural in her work clothes.

Her previously malevolent intentions turned into conflicting thoughts. Beverly had to sit down. In a much slower pace, she finally walked home. Bev’s home wasn’t exactly filled with many decorations or personal effects. There were a few photos here and there, of her parents and her, when she was a little girl. There was a photo with Monsignor Pruitt, where she was bracing him by the arm, smiling into the camera. The older priest had his hand gently placed against hers, a kind smile on his own face. Bev rather missed the old man.

Despite the fact that the Monsignor too succumbed to the temptation of flesh, he never stopped being a good priest. And a good man. He never once refused to offer a helping hand, he was always ready to be of support. He was a rock for Beverly when she lost her parents, much too early. She could rely on him when she was all alone, when she had nobody else. Maybe that’s what really drove her to church so much… Most things in her house were of religious theme, verses were framed on her walls, there were crucifixes placed throughout the entire home, Bev only had records of gospel music laid by the old record player which belonged to her mother.

Beverly sat down in her armchair, the room so quiet  one could hear a pin drop. The truth was that Father Paul, despite his immoral indulgence in carnal desires, was still a good priest. He took care of his parish, took care of his flock. Always ready to help and provide support… just like the Monsignor.

And (F/N)? Beverly scoffed unhappily. As much as she wasn’t fond of the girl and the fact she seduced a holy man, she had to admit that (F/N) was… a part of Crockett Island now. She came when everyone else left, this was her home, and the people accepted her as their own. She was popular. Beverly was not, she was aware of that. She knew that most people only tolerated her because she played such a big part in the church, and because she taught their children. She didn’t have friends, or a family, but she had this. And that was good enough for her.

However, if she were to… if she were to report Father Paul Hill to the dioceses, if she managed to actually get him out of Crockett Island… She probably wouldn’t be tolerated anymore… No, Beverly would be hated . There was a big possibility the people would be more willing to accept an uncelibate priest whom they adored, rather than have this beloved priest taken away. And God knows who’d take his place then? If it came down to taking sides, Bev had no qualms that people would actually take hers and not Father Paul’s. She’d then drop lower than Joe Collie, who was slowly but surely gaining more sympathy ever since he became sober. She’d be the town pariah. Not Joe, not Riley, but Beverly .

She put her face into her hands. Was she going to actually ignore this? Was she really just going to let them continue committing sins? Then again… everyone sinned, didn’t they? To sin was human after all, and the heavenly father forgives all those who try to make amends. And Father Paul and (F/N)(L/N)... they made amends constantly by all the work they put into this small community… The teacher sighed deeply. She supposed she could try to just … ignore it. She didn’t agree with what they were doing, but she could ignore it, for the sake of everyone else… Speaking of everyone else, Beverly wondered who else knew of this little affair. Erin Greene? Possibly, her and (F/N) were joined at the hip. And if Erin knew, then Riley Flynn maybe knew as well. Who else?

It was decided then. Bev looked up and released another deep sigh. In a way, she felt… lighter? Calmer? What was with this feeling of acceptance? She should still be angry, she should be hating every moment she allows this to continue, but she just wasn’t. In a way, she was… content. It was better for Crockett Island if Father Paul stayed, and, well, Bev reluctantly supposed it was better if (F/N) stayed too. She didn’t even realise the corners of her lips were turning up slightly. Sighing for the last time, she got up from her chair and walked to the record player. Maybe there were still some of her mother's old records somewhere, Bev thought, maybe she could use some non-gospel music for a little change.

—

Any day now, you and Paul expected some nasty letter from the dioceses, or maybe a surprise visit from the bishop. Or a phone call, inquiring whether it was true that the priest was in a forbidden affair with a woman.. But nothing happened. You haven’t really discussed what would happen to your relationship, because the thought was too terrifying, but you became so much more careful about it. You didn’t dare to touch one another unless you were in the rectory or your house, doors locked and curtains closed. You wouldn’t hold each other’s hand during walks, you didn’t feel safe expressing any physical affection even in front of the friends who knew of your relationship.

It sucked, not being able to snuggle up to the priest when you were outside in the woods, definitely alone, but unwilling to take any risks. You missed his warmth, the smell of him when he held you close, you missed the stolen kisses. You wouldn't even go to the Uppards, even though you’d never be caught there, especially by Beverly. It sucked.

On the other hand, you learned how to show affection in public through other ways. Like a deep look into each other’s eyes and a single slow blink - like a quick peck on the lips. A smile and head slightly cocked to the side - an ‘I love you’. It wasn’t the real thing, but it was lovely nonetheless. A week passed, then two and… nothing. No letters, no phone calls, no visits. In fact, it was very quiet. The priest served his homilies as usual, Bev helped him as she always did. She talked to him and treated him the same as ever, as if she never caught the two of you, as if it had all been a bad dream.

Yet, the two of you remained cautious, always checking over your shoulder. By the third week, you were going mad. As you lay in your bed, mind for once calm and quiet after a tender lovemaking, with Paul drawing little patterns on your bare back with his fingertips, you suddenly spoke: “We should talk to her.” “Hm?” asked Paul, and turned his head a little to look at you. “To Bev,” you clarified. Paul sighed and closed his arms around you. “Why?” he asked finally. You adjusted yourself in his hold and rested your chin on his collarbone to look into his eyes: “Well, it’s been a while. If she told someone, the dioceses… they would’ve been here by now, wouldn’t they? Or call, at least? She’d be smug about it, I think. But she’s, you know… normal. Well Bev-normal anyway.”

Paul nodded and closed his eyes. “Hm… That’s going to be very uncomfortable,” he said at last. You pulled yourself up to press a kiss against his perfect mouth, making him smile softly. “Yeah… but we’ll face it together.”

—

It was… very very awkward. You were sitting on the uncomfortable metal chairs in the recreation centre, you and Paul next to each other, Beverly Keane opposite of you. You were so nervous. The priest grabbed your hand, which was gripping your knee painfully, in silent support. Bev frowned for a bit, but didn’t say anything. You took a deep breath, it was now or never. “Miss Keane, we wanted to talk to you about what you saw in Saint Patrick’s some time ago. There’s no point in lying. What you saw was exactly what it looked like, Father Paul and I, we… we’re lovers. And have for a long time.” Paul nodded next to you and squeezed your hand tighter.

Beverly nodded as well: “I’ve gathered as much. Why are we here?” You swallowed in nervousness and took a breath to answer, but Paul beat you to it: “You are a very devout woman, Beverly. I am breaking my vows. Yet, you still… help me in church, you treat the two of us the same… You didn’t tell anyone?” Bev’s eyes were piercing, you felt quite tiny under her scrutinising gaze. Finally, she looked down at her hands which were neatly folded in her lap: “No, I didn’t… Not really for your sake, though. I don’t approve of this. I didn’t tell anyone because… Crockett Island relies on you, Father. And, to a certain amount, on you as well (F/N)(L/N). I will keep quiet about this… However, you must know that if I… caught you, someone else will too, eventually. So you may, at the very least, attempt to be… decent.”

You bit your lip. Bev was right, it was only a matter of time before the relationship would be found out. But then again, you didn’t think there were that many people left to find out. Over the months, you received more and more knowing looks, from both friends and acquaintances. One time a woman named Betty, who ran the island’s teeny-tiny beauty salon and attended Sunday masses pulled you aside to tell you what a lucky woman you were, having a good looking man like that. In fact, the only person you were seriously hiding your love from was currently promising she’ll keep her mouth shut about it. It was nearly surreal.

After some more awkward and uncomfortable talking, during which you revealed to Beverly that your relationship began after the Easter vigil (by which she was surprised, since she suspected something was going on much earlier), you parted ways in a rather civil manner. As you left the rec centre, Paul took your hand in his right away, leading you to the woods for a stroll. You smiled and leaned into him, thankful to feel his warmth again.

Over the following weeks, you settled back into your routine, except you were way more relaxed. Someone saw you holding hands, or sharing an embrace and a kiss from time to time, but they never once commented on it. Well, most of the time. One time you pressed a kiss to Paul’s cheek when you thought you were alone, in front of the general store, just to hear a wolf-whistle behind you. “Knew it,” came Joe Collie’s voice, as he left the shop and walked away jovially, Pike following behind him with a wagging tail. “He didn’t know shit,” said sheriff Hassan, leaning against the doorframe, “I knew, though.” You stuck your tongue out at him, making Paul chuckle.

—

Hard to believe it had been a year already, you thought as you stood by the gazebo, a sooty cross drawn on your forehead. There were more people attending the Crock Pot Luck this year, as the town’s population grew slightly. You observed them fondly, feeling at peace. Feeling utterly home. One year ago exactly, you were sitting at one of the tables, sipping wine and chatting with Father Paul. Back then, you only ever allowed yourself to think of him in secret, today he lived in your mind rent-free and you were far from being mad about it.

Speaking of Father Paul, a pair of long arms wrapped themselves around your waist from behind and soft lips brushed against the back of your neck. You smiled and put your hands over his. He came around, keeping one arm around you and pulled you close for a real kiss. And what a kiss it was, sweet and passionate at the same time, and it filled your heart with utmost joy. When you pulled back, you noticed a number of people looking at the two of you. Some of them had a knowing expression and a smile on their faces, some were wide eyed, but said nothing. Others simply returned to minding their own business. Bev Keane was one of the latter. You smiled at your lover and he mirrored you.

“No more hiding, huh? You asked quietly. His smile grew: “No more hiding.” You stroked his smooth cheek. “The secrecy was kind of thrilling though,” you teased. The priest chuckled, “we can do a little bit of hiding, as a treat,” he promised. You giggled airily and pressed one more kiss to his lips before grabbing his hand and leading him to one of the tables.

No more hiding.

Hello again! Hope it wasn’t that horrible lol. You can check out this story and the entire series on AO3. Thank you for being patient with me <3 

Tagged: @i-was-ok-then-i-saw-hamish​

I will feed you a sugarcube and scratch your head for feedback ;-;

Also, please, if you're on insta, go and report account named 32181045, who hacked Hamish's account, got Hamish deleted and gloats about it in their stories.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

Paradise | kinktober 2024 | “richer, richest”

prompt: bathtub sex

pairing: alex/one of my many girls

word count: 4071

song: “music to watch boys to” by lana del rey

contains: references to fiddler on the roof and fun in acapulco, banter, alex in a hammock, drinking, bathing and washing, handjobs

The cool night air kissed his forehead as he climbed into the hammock with a freshly made Manhattan in one hand. He had taken off his shirt and relished in the fact that Birmingham beckoned a bit of rain come the morning after. What a good show! And a hot one at that: though he never expected to sweat all that much given he didn’t wear all that much, he still stripped down to his underwear and took advantage of one of the canvas hammocks right outside of the hotel lobby. His curls had been drenched, and enough to where a few of them stuck onto the side of his neck as if he had just taken a shower, but he vowed to take one once his heartbeat calmed down and he had finished his drink as well.

Right before the show, he had told those two girls that he would be waiting for them in his room afterwards like Elvis in Acapulco, complete with a drink in hand.

He set the glass down on the edge of the canvas, right next to his hip, and he rested his other hand upon his bare chest. His fingers crept over his bare skin and the fine hair beginning to sprout up. His skin, though warm and glossy with sweat, seemed to glow under the golden light of the outside lamps, a tender soft porcelain as smooth like that of milk.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the lead of his band, with those thick molasses-colored coils flowing back from his head, or his twin guitarist, with that smooth jet-black hair that seemed to float over his head like water. All the hair and all the sweat and all the dark leather and denim that could possibly be a dream to him not even a few years before then.

He opened his eyes and thought about adding a little more to his relaxation session there in the hammock, especially when he had a big strong cocktail in hand. Something to get him a little more comfortable, especially once those two girls showed up. He sipped on the little black straw tucked in his glass as an airplane sailed overhead and a few passersby down below chattered in those big loud Brommie accents.

The drink hit his parched throat, when he caught the sound of a knock on the door in bedroom. He then cleared his throat and raised his head out from the head of the hammock.

“Come in!” he called out in the biggest, fullest voice he could do.

The door swung open, and Q sidled into the room, her hair pinned up against her head with sparkling black bobby pins adorned with what looked like little roses and her body wrapped up in a fitted black dress dotted with little skulls.

“Oh, hi,” he said as he lay his head back down on the canvas and put his hand back underneath his head. She strode on over to him with what looked like a dark red bottle of bubble bath in one hand, and her handbag in the other, and she stood in the doorway with a sly smirk on her face. It was there he realized the dots on her bobby pins were tiny bejeweled skulls: they sparkled like glitter under the golden light of the outside lights.

“Where’s our hibiscus?” he asked her with a gesture to the balcony.

“She’s talking up to one of your band mates,” Q replied, “the rhythm guitarist who has been sweet-talking her since yesterday.” She then showed him a little smile. “Hibiscus, is that what you called her?”

“Our girl who wants to take us to Hawai’i when the time comes,” he stated with a slight raise of one eyebrow. “And she’s been talking to him, really? I’m jealous.”

“He cooked her a big pastrami sandwich on some marbled rye bread yesterday,” Q said, and she twirled the bottle of bubble bath about in her fingers. “And you know us, too, babe—we like to do things from a multiple standpoint.”

“Not sure if he understands that,” he confessed in a low voice, and he sipped on his Manhattan a little more.

“She’ll be joining us once we get things moving along here, though,” Q vowed, and she showed him the bottle of bubble bath, and he had a feeling that it was going to smell of spices and her bloody kisses.

“I could use a little bath,” he confessed to her as he tucked his free hand behind his head. He rested the base of the glass on the side of his stomach, to which the condensation sent a chill over his body. It felt good, however, perhaps more so than the cooler British weather in comparison to the heat of the show from before.

“Would you like me to join you in the hammock?” she offered him as she set her purse down on the floor next to edge of the door, and she cradled the bottle of bubble bath in both hands as if she was offering him the sword to lend him into battle.

“I’m all kinds of sweaty, though,” he pointed out. “You saw us out there, it was like a sweatshop.”

“I’d chill in there with you,” Q insisted. “And I’m pretty damn sure Jay would cozy up next to you, too. Neither of us care how schweaty you are.”

He burst out laughing at that.

“Schweaty? Schweaty on the schlemiel with this old schlub?” And she laughed at that as well.

“Well, it’s just…” Q eyed his body, his long legs and the way that he held the glass of Manhattan next to his belly and kept one hand right under his head. The way a few tendrils of hair plastered themselves onto the side of his neck and his shoulder. He hooded his eyes at her, and he took another sip, that time he caught a taste of the bitters fused with the cherries.

“What?” He raised his eyebrows at her, and he gave the glass a slight swirl.

“Look at you,” she remarked with a gesture to his body.

He ran his tongue along his top row of teeth, along those buck teeth.

“Tevye. Look at you. Just… look at your body.”

“Look at me the way you look at life,” he said with a raise of his glass. “L’chaim!” He tugged the straw out of the cocktail and then drank down the rest of it in one fell swoop. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his curls.

“You couldn’t have bought me a Cosmo?” she asked him, slightly wounded.

“After we have our bath, I’ll take you downstairs for a quick little whipping up of a girly drink for one of my two girlies,” he promised her in a single breath. “If Jay comes back between now and then, we’ll get her a daiquiri.” He knitted his eyebrows at that. “She does like daiquiri, right?”

“She likes a daiquiri, she likes sex on the beach and a screaming orgasm, too,” Q told him with a straight face, to which he raised his eyebrows once again.

“She likes a screaming orgasm, really?” he chuckled. “As much as she likes to breathe and gasp and what have you. A nice chilly creamy screaming orgasm right between the teeth?”

Q nodded her head in enthusiasm.

“She likes amaretto and Kahlua,” she replied. “She likes the Caress, too. Irish cream with orange liqueur. They don’t call her big mama for no reason.”

“You got that right, woof,” he muttered, and he leaned over the edge of the hammock and set down the glass on the concrete of the balcony. Q stooped over and picked it up with one hand.

“By the way, I love that dress on you,” he told her.

“You do?” She tucked his empty glass in the hand with the bottle of bubble bath, and she ran that free hand down the hourglass shape of her body, right down her hip.

“I do. Very cute and makes me wanna touch you some more.”

“You wanna take a bath?” she offered him, and she showed him a playful little smile.

“You know it,” he told her as he swung the hammock a bit with nothing more than his hips; he could feel the sweat beading some more up on his brow. “You and me in that big tub with that big red bottle in one hand? Yes, please.” He swayed the hammock a bit more, and he rolled over onto the side of the canvas, albeit to no avail.

“You want some help?” Q offered him, and she set the bottle of bubble bath down next to her purse.

“Maybe,” he grunted out as the hammock kept on swinging underneath him. He rolled over onto his stomach and tried to put one foot down onto the concrete, but he was swinging too hard.

“Here, let me help you—” Q spoke too soon as the hammock swung back and he rolled right out onto the concrete floor of the balcony. But then he sat up all the way right as the underside of the canvas brushed against his head, and he showed her a toothy smile.

“That’s one way to do it,” he declared, and he rubbed his hands together. Q giggled at that, and she offered him her helping hands. He stumbled up to his feet and ran his fingers through his hair again. “Yeah, let’s have a bath.”

“Bath babe,” she decreed with a gentle pat of his svelte little belly, and then she picked up the empty glass, while he scooped up her purse and the bottle of bubble bath from the spot next to the door frame. He walked back into the room first, and she slid the door closed behind them. She then shook her head at the sight of his room, and he noticed her in the reflection of the mirror over the sink on the other side of the room.

“What?” he asked her.

“Such a messy boy!” she declared. “You couldn’t have made your bed?”

“I’m going to!” he insisted, and then he dropped his shorts right then. “First things first.”

“I should tell you that the bubble bath smells lovely,” Q assured him as she set his empty glass down on the table against the wall.

“Let us relish in it,” he declared with a slight shake of his bare ass to her. She lunged for him to give him a pinch, and then he scampered into the bathroom with the bottle in hand.

A big spacious room with a large L-shaped pearly white tub big enough for the two of them as well as Jay, his lead singer, and his rhythm guitarist, and he dropped the plug into the drain and switched on the faucet in the pivot part of the tub, cold first followed by the hot water.

“I reckon we don’t need that much water,” he said when he heard her walk into the room right behind him, to which she pinched his bare ass and then tickled the small of his back. He arched his back and stepped out of her way. She had unscrewed the bottle and poured a small dollop of the rich red bubble bath, the same color as lush, freshly pressed red wine.

“Okay, now… oh, wow, that does smell lovely,” he remarked. “Is that cinnamon?”

“Cardamom,” she replied as she set another pair of smaller dark red bottles on the edge of the tub next to the washcloths. “Jay tells me it’s a major aphrodisiac amongst other things.” She stuck her hand down into the water right under the faucet head to stimulate the suds. A small bubble floated up to his face, and he looked on at his own reflection. The fact the water was going to be warm only made him sweat a little more, but he knew for a fact that the long-haired boy in the reflection of the bubble was going to relish every part of it. He watched Q take off her dress from behind, to which she glimpsed over her shoulder at him and showed a little smile.

He eyed the full hourglass shape of her body as well as the way her ass hung right next to his head. Her dress fell to the carpeted bath mat on the floor, and then she followed it up with a drop of her bra down her arms and her panties down her legs.

The water rose up to where it looked as though they were going to have their legs completely submerged, and Q climbed in, right foot first, followed by the left. He watched her take her spot right next to the faucet, and she switched it off right then. Suds stacked up on top of each other all across the surface of the water, all of which smelled of that warm, delicate anise smell of cardamom.

“Come on in, baby,” she coaxed him as she began taking the bobby pins out of her hair. He set one foot in, followed by the other, to which he gasped at the feeling against his skin.

“Oh, my god, the water’s perfect,” he told her as he took his seat on the bottom. The surface of the water rose above his belly button so his thighs were completely covered in the suds. He leaned back as if to recline on the wall of the tub, but he instead lay down flat on his back. His curls submerged under the water, and the water whirred inside of his ears. The water surrounded the perimeter of his face, and he could feel his waist rising up from the water. He glanced to his left to see Q showing him a smile.

“It’s like you’re undergoing a baptism, babe,” she told him.

“I’m absolutely undergoing one of those,” he retorted back to her, and then he sat upright on the bottom of the tub. His hair stuck to his back, his ribs, and the backs of his arms for a few seconds before the curls sprang up against his skin. He cupped his hands into the water on his lap and splashed it up onto his face. He cupped his hands again, and he splashed more water onto his chest and shoulders. He shook his head about, and his hair plastered to his face and neck: he peeked through the drenched tendrils at her.

“You look like water,” she told him as her hair fell to her shoulders. She did the same thing as him, down onto her back so her hair soaked down to the roots. He eyed her breasts and the oblong shape of her nipples, and he wondered where this was going to go once she sat up and picked out a clean white washcloth from the edge of the tub.

“Shall I wash you?” she offered him as she placed the cloth into the water to soak it.

“Oh, you know I’d love that,” he told her as he slid closer to her; a few columns of suds collected around them, which in turn made him think of coral. He snickered to himself as Q reached behind her for one of the bottles on the edge of the tub.

“What’s so funny?” she asked him as she held the bottle in her free hand.

“Jay likes a screaming orgasm,” he chuckled. “Why am I under the impression that part of it has to do with the name, besides her love of the flavors.”

“Same with sex on the beach and the Caress,” Q said as she wiped a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Make everyone in the room blush.” He chuckled some more as Q poured a small dollop of the pearly white soap into the palm of her other hand blanketed in the washcloth. She rubbed the cloth against itself for a thick lather, which also smelled of cardamom.

“What’s in a sex on the beach, anyway?” he asked her as she rubbed the cloth across his shoulders to his upper arm.

“Peach, orange, and cranberry, if I remember correctly.” Gently, she washed down his arms, and he put them over his head so she could take care of his pits and his chest.” It’s been so long since I’ve had one, and it’s been a while since she had one, too.” He put his arms down as some of the soap dripped down his skin to the surface of the water. “We like slippery nipples, too. Irish cream with sambuca.”

“I’m gonna get so soaked with you girls,” he declared, and he let out a hearty laugh. He lifted his hands out of the water, only to find some suds on the backs of his hands. “Completely and totally soaked. And I like how you said ‘slippery nipples’ as the soap slid off my chest.”

“‘Cause your nipples are quite slippery, Tevye,” she retorted to him. “Let me get your back next.”

He bunched his hair as if to make a ponytail, and then he slung it over his shoulder. He closed his eyes as she ran the cloth across his back and down his spine and sides. The smell was warm and intoxicating, and the cloth swept over his hot, clammy skin as if to nourish him.

Once she was done, he lay back down in the water and rinsed off that way. He sat back up so she could wash his hair for him with the shampoo in the other red bottle.

“God, this is lovely,” he remarked as she slowly massaged her fingers over his scalp. “I kind of feel something coming on, if you catch my drift.” Q then rounded the side of his face, past the suds and the lather in his hair, for a kiss on his clear skin.

“Well… we’re here in the tub together. And it’s a big tub, too.”

“It is a big tub, this is true,” he told her with a raise of his eyebrows at her. “You wanna… maybe fool around and have a little fun here while we have some time alone? I’m not sure what we could do.”

“Jay’s the water master, too,” Q added. “She’d know what to do. I could give it to you in other ways, though.” She ran her fingers down through his hair, and he lay back down in the water again for a good rinse. All the while, she flexed her fingers over his chest and his belly as if to tickle him. He covered his belly with his hands and he let the water flow through his hair.

“Water is not really the best lube, though,” Q pointed out in a hollow voice as his ears were right above the surface of the water. “That won’t stop me from fondling you down, though. Fondling you down and giving you a little pain for not waiting for my best friend.”

He licked his lips and flashed her a wink.

“And it shouldn’t, either.” She then reached over for the closest pile of suds and cloaked his hips and thighs with it. She reached down under the pile of suds so he could not see what she was doing. He stayed leaned back and let his chest and shoulders sink further down to the water. The tub was shallow enough that he could partially float on his back but at the same time, he could keep his ass and the backs of his thighs down on the bottom.

He could feel her fingers groping over his skin, and the water acted as a protective layer between the two of them. A layer of makeshift latex over his skin. The feeling that he had sunk back into the warmth of the water as if he was floating under the kiss of the sun.

He could feel her other hand running the washcloth down the top of his thigh, all the way down to his knee. The suds and the soap gave her more protection than his closed eyes ever would for her.

His ears sank below the water: it rushed into his ears to where it sounded as though he floated about in the calmest part of the ocean. The edge of the water kissed the perimeter of his face again, and he spread out his arms on either side of him as if he was in fact undergoing a baptism.

Q ran the cloth down the top of his other thigh, and all the while, she never let go of his dick with her one hand, and as a result, he was well on his way to growing as firm and full as he could let it. The water washed over his legs to rinse off the soap, and then she began fondling him even more. She kneaded on the base of his shaft, down close to his body as if she was kneading dough. Her fingers grazed over the tender, sensitive skin down inside of his thighs, and he knew it was to add to the feeling. These girls knew how to touch him, and Q always surprised him to top it all off.

She ran both hands up his shaft to the head as if she was playing a harp, and she wriggled her fingers against his head. The suds surrounded them like clouds, especially once she straightened out his shaft and held him by the head. He opened his mouth, and yet no sound emerged at first.

She held onto the tip with two fingers, and then she very delicately ran her fingertips up the inside of his shaft: some suds ran down his skin to the space between his thighs. It was like being fondled by clouds while floating on the ocean. He finally raised his head out of the water so he could make that low moan from the back of his throat all for her.

She ran the tip of one finger around the rim of the hole at the end, which in turn brought out a bucking from his hips. She rested a hand on his belly to steady him, and at that point, he opened his eyes. He glanced at her and the devilish look on her face and the twinkle in her eye. She showed him the tip of her tongue, and then she rested one finger on his lips to silence him, even though he wasn’t going to say anything.

“Hold still,” she commanded. She held onto him with one hand, and he realized he was still entrenched in a blanket of those warm, spicy suds.

He gasped from the feeling of her fingers down inside of his head. Her fingernail against the soft, tender skin up inside of him, and he writhed about a bit under the water. He could feel his hips bucking again from that grating sensation. It gave him more of a pinch than her fingers on his ass or the way she flexed her fingers over his belly.

Q stuck her finger down inside of the hole, and she grated her nail against the inside of him. With her other hand, she dug her nails onto his shaft, and he gritted his teeth from the sensation. It hurt but it felt so good. She treated him to a bath and yet he got greedy, and now he was taking it.

He could feel himself about to get off, and she slipped her finger out of the head. She cupped her hands around his shaft and she blanketed more suds around him, and he knew it was to buoy the fact he was coming there in the bathtub.

Q then lay down in the water next to him and stroked his chest down with the palm of her hand. He finally opened his eyes and rolled his head over for a look into her face and the fact she was dipping the crown of her head into the water to drench her hair.

“Shall I do you now?” he offered her.

“I had a shower earlier but—” She leaned in for a kiss on his cherry lips. “You are so sweet, though. Let’s dry off and go find our big mama and see if she’s having a sex on the beach with your twin guitarist.”

[seriously-mike]

Welcome to the third installment of "Artists Through The AIs": this time, we're going way back to the classics with a certain young witch dressed up as a certain sorceress.

Due to odd behavior of the data model (the freshly updated Dreamshaper V7), I had to fiddle with the prompt. Namely, if emphasis was put on the "painting" part, the images were sprouting easels and/or heavy gilded frames every-goddamn-where, even with CLIP skip set at 2 instead of the usual 1. So "painting" was left at 1.0 weight, while "by X" was emphasised to 1.2. Other than that, the prompt is "embedding:kieshi3v with long (red hair):1.2, wearing long red medieval dress with corset, medieval castle exterior background, dramatic lighting, detailed, high definition", and the seed is 254762234227837. Negative prompt includes "((easel)), ((frame)), ((interior)), red eyes" in addition to my usual heavily magical list. So here we go.

Leonardo da Vinci - I'm having second thoughts about the background common for several of the renders, but there's enough distinction between them to highlight Leonardo's style. The main focus is skin shading and curly hair, as seen in Leonardo's depictions of Virgin Mary.

Caravaggio - deceptively similar to the previous one, but with a noticeable distinction: the deeper shadows and higher contrast, creating a very Caravaggian chiaroscuro.

Titian - asking for "Titian" and "Tiziano" generated very similar takes in a lamp-lit corridor with way too modern look and pretty much no similarity to the paintings you can view online.

It also appears that AI omits the paint and canvas textures from Renaissance paintings, something it didn't do with the impressionists previously. This is most probably due to less emphasis on the "painting" part, as I'm going to show you in another post. Moving most of the description two-three tokens down apparently also creates a new baseline with a window or portal (either fitted with a door or not) instead of an overcast outside shot.

Albrecht Durer - whether you spell him with an umlaut or not, the outcome is a generic take with a portal in the background. The umlaut just removes the door and gives Sabrina a handbag.

Lucas Cranach the Younger - what we have here is a miscommunication. If you ask for the art of Lucas Cranach, sure as shit you'll get your character in a black beret popularized by the elder one's paintings of German VIPs. However, the diametrically different interior characteristic of Renaissance painting and less pronounced effect of the embedded likeness of Kiernan Shipka makes me think that, once again, we're dealing with a "So you have heard of me" behavior.

Hans Holbein the Younger - once again, something's way off here. We have a similar Renaissance interior background with some traces of brushwork, less pronounced embedding and some odd lace bonnet, but nothing that would link the work to either of the two Holbeins. I think that we're dealing with the side effect of the prompt being knocked two further tokens down, but I'm not sure. It goes too far, particularly if you consider that differences between other images are much less pronounced.

Rembrandt - as in the case of Caravaggio, the distinct part of this one is the chiaroscuro. There's also more pronounced detailing of the collar and shoulders of the dress, possibly inspired by the outfits in "The Anatomy Lesson of dr Tulp", "Syndics of the Drapers' Guild" and "The Night Watch".

Vermeer - there's no doubt. This is Vermeer. Two different seeds and I got two very similar mashups of "The Girl Reading A Letter", "The Girl With Pearl Earring" and "The Milkmaid". This goes so far against the prompt that we're dealing with a similar case to Simon Stalenhag from the first test.

Peter Paul Rubens - this one itches my brain something fierce. While scrolling through the renders, this one and four neighboring ones share the exact same position of white shift and a dark underbust corset, meaning they're merely slight variations on a baseline, but I swear that I've seen a similar painting of a long-haired man in a black doublet with frilly white collar and sleeves. Was that a Rubens? I have no idea (it wasn't Hals' "The Laughing Cavalier", though).

Diego Velazquez - this one is trying to do something. Once again, we have a portal in the background, but the character's position is slightly off the baseline and the palette is slightly muted.

Murillo - way too generic. The background is curiously off, as it's not a portal but a vaulted ceiling supported by pillars, but the pose is shared by four other renders, including the Rubens one, meaning it's sticking to the baseline fairly closely.

Francisco Goya - this is an odd one. It has nothing to do with Goya's works, but still, the pose is off the baseline, the background features brushwork and an abrupt switch from a near wall to a wider expanse with bizarre levitating architecture. I have no idea what's going on with it.

Eugene Delacroix - it's generic. Sure, the background features an open street with some people as opposed to the typical portal and lamp or chandelier, but the pose and outfit are kinda samey. What, no attempt to go anywhere near "Liberty Leading The People"?!

Jacques-Louis David - another generic one. I mean, what the fuck. If you look at David's corpus of works on Wikipedia, this could have been done entirely differently, yet we have an underbust corset, a portal and a light source in the background.

Thomas Gainsborough - finally something. Discernible brushwork, unusual contrast and lighting, and - as a bonus - the Strawberry Hill Gothic castle in the background make this one distinctive and consistent without plowing straight into obnoxious homage slash blatant plagiarism territory.

[dyemelikeasunset]

How would you describe Dom and Mor's fashion style? What's their main aesthetic (if they have one) and what's your usual process when dressing your Ocs?

(I noticed Morgan's style had changed a ton since you reworked the story).

yeah Mor's style changed a LOT in her recent iteration lol

As for my process, I kinda go through a lot. I start with mood-boarding of course, but I also have a pretty deep knowledge of fashion brands and current trends, so I use those to help get a general aesthetic or direction for my characters.

I'll summarize how I see Dom & Mor's fashions and you can pick up some of the things I have on my long list of "what things I consider in the style for my OCs"

Dom: menswear inspired, androgynous, the occasional luxury brand logo (especially in her belts). Primarily should feel sleek-- even if she's following oversized trends, another part of the outfit should be svelte to balance it out. Very much a Gucci, Chanel, and Yves Saint Laurent girl, but she tends towards all-black or greyer/monochrome palettes. Shoes range from oxfords, smoker slippers, and chunky heels of all kinds (she usually wears a 3-inch). Doesn't really do thin post heels unless it's for work.

She's the type to not have bags often, if she does, it's a handbag or clutch. Wears minimal watches, but doesn't accessorize much outside of that. She has no idea what a futch is, yet she wears luxury men's briefs and cologne (her scents tend towards teak and mahogany and other handsome wooden-to-oriental scents)

Mor: comfortable, somewhere between tomboy and feminine, sometimes sporty but not sports luxe. She avoids "bombshell" or "sexy" looks, and is stylish in a cute street-inspired way. LOVES to layer, winter is her favorite season. Likes brands like Kenzo, Off-White, and Tommy Hilfiger. Picks up on popular trends, and likes whites, light tans, and sedated but rich colors. Uses canvas tote bags and backpacks. Tends towards oversized silhouettes in at least one part of her outfit. She refuses to let the Timberland and chunky sneaker trends die-- she loves her Timbs and a good chunky shoe. In general likes to collect nice footwear but leans towards flat heels, sneakers, and cute boots.

Her main way of accessorizing is through hats and beanies-- doesn't really do belts, jewelry, or perfume. Her scents usually come from lotions and essential oils, which range from floral to oriental

[hopepaigeturner]

The Road to Ruin & Beauty

“Ben, you’re 4 o’clock is here!”

“Coming!” Benedict called back to Eloise, wiping his hands and huffing at the sketch before him. It was passable and his client would like it, but it was just missing…something.

 He came to the front desk of the parlour and stood in front of it, peering over the computer.

“Who’s my 4.00 again?”

Eloise sighed and shuffled her A-Level textbook and notes that she had crammed onto the thrifted desk. “A Miss SB. Didn’t give her full name, asked for a private session. Cash.”

“Ooh a fun one.”

A commonplace practice, normally for rebellious teens or men in three-piece suits who dared to dip their toe in their dark side.

“She’s over there—hasn’t sat down. Considering her attire, she is probably wondering if the sofas are contaminated,” Eloise whispered. Benedict snorted.

“Are we talking St Trinians or Wild Child?”

“Wild Child—the snooty ones at the beginning of the movie who can barely breath because their noses are so upturned.”

“Be nice.”

“I’m sure you will be—she’s a pretty one.”

“You say that about every girl that comes in,” Eloise shrugged at his comment and adjusted her purple hair. “Luckily for me I get to make her beautiful.”

“Or ruin her.”

“Whichever is more fun.” He batted back with a wink.

“Gross.” Eloise shoved him away and he chuckled.

“You love me.”

“Ugh, don’t even look at me.”

She pushed him away and he was still chuckling as he turned to face the client.

And he stopped.

“Um, hello.” The girl fiddled with the strap of her little handbag, her French manicured nails glinting. “I’m…I’m Ella—I mean Sophie.” She held out her hand, her nervous little smile only making her features more enchanting—such as her evergreen eyes. “I’m Sophie Beckett. I’m here to get a tattoo?”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Lady Ella-Maria Sophia Gunningworth has one final day before her entire life becomes set in stone. Even so, she should not have rung up a tattoo parlour on the other side of the city, miles away from the tennis courts and imperial arches of her life. Nor should she have the ludicrous notion to actually turn up for the appointment at B-Bees Tattoo Parlour. Nor should her entire world stop when she locks eyes with the tattoo artist.

Benedict Bridgerton always dreamed of being an artist. But with the untimely death of his father, a grieving mother and seven siblings to provide for, he locked those dreams far, far away. Instead, he uses ink instead of paint and skin instead of canvas to create beautiful tattoos. But recently his artistic spark has dwindled to an ember. And then a girl in a chequered cardigan and Mary Jane’s walks into his shop.

Two worlds that should never collide. But what happens when they do? Will it lead to beauty or ruin?

OR

The Benophie role reversal AU that’s stuck in my brain.

All creds go to @silverhallow for inspiring this.

IDK if it's gonna be a full fic or just drabbles, as I've got other WIPs and pressures on me. I just needed to get all these ideas out. Let me know if you guys want to hear more!

(Oh and as usual, Sophie is WOC until we finally get Benophie season!)

[trendinbags01]

The Perfect Handbag for Girls: A Stylish Companion for Every Occasion

Handbags are more than just accessories; they are an essential part of a girl's wardrobe. Whether you're heading to school, a casual outing, or a special event, the right handbag can complement your outfit and keep your essentials organized. From trendy totes to chic clutches, handbags for girls come in various styles, sizes, and colors, allowing you to express your personality and meet your needs. This article explores the key factors to consider when choosing the perfect hand bag for girls and highlights some popular styles that every girl should consider.

1. Choosing the Right Handbag

When selecting a handbag, it's important to consider both style and functionality. Here are some factors to keep in mind:

a. Size and Capacity: The size of the handbag should be appropriate for its intended use. A small crossbody bag may be perfect for a day out with friends, while a larger tote or backpack is better suited for school or work. Ensure that the bag can comfortably hold all your essentials, such as your phone, wallet, keys, and makeup.

b. Material and Durability: Handbags are available in a variety of materials, including leather, faux leather, canvas, and fabric. Leather and faux leather bags tend to be more durable and offer a sophisticated look, while fabric and canvas bags are lightweight and perfect for casual outings. Choose a material that matches your lifestyle and withstands daily wear and tear.

c. Style and Design: The style of the handbag should reflect your personality and complement your wardrobe. Whether you prefer a classic, minimalist design or a bold, statement piece, there are countless options to choose from. Consider the occasion and outfit when selecting the design, as certain styles may be more appropriate for formal events, while others are better suited for casual settings.

d. Comfort and Portability: A handbag should not only look good but also be comfortable to carry. Pay attention to the length and adjustability of the straps, as well as the overall weight of the bag. A lightweight bag with adjustable straps will ensure that you can carry it comfortably throughout the day.

2. Popular Handbag Styles for Girls

a. Tote Bags: Tote bags are versatile and spacious, making them a popular choice for school, work, or shopping. They typically feature a large, open compartment with sturdy handles, allowing you to carry books, notebooks, and even a laptop. Totes are available in a range of designs, from simple and classic to trendy and embellished.

b. Crossbody Bags: Crossbody bags for women  are compact and convenient, perfect for girls on the go. With a long, adjustable strap that can be worn across the body, these bags provide hands-free convenience while keeping your essentials close. Crossbody bags come in various styles, from casual and sporty to chic and elegant, making them suitable for both day and night outings.

c. Backpacks: Backpacks are a practical choice for students and travelers, offering ample storage space and even weight distribution across the shoulders. Modern backpacks for girls come in stylish designs and colors, with compartments for laptops, water bottles, and other essentials. Whether you're heading to school, a weekend getaway, or a hike, a backpack is a reliable and fashionable choice.

d. Clutches and Wristlets: Clutches and wristlets are ideal for special occasions or nights out when you only need to carry a few essentials. These small, handheld bags add a touch of elegance to your outfit and are available in various materials, such as satin, sequins, and leather. Clutches often feature a detachable chain or wrist strap for added convenience.

e. Satchels: Satchels are structured bags with a flap closure and a top handle, offering a blend of sophistication and practicality. They are perfect for girls who want a polished look, whether for school, work, or a casual outing. Satchels are often spacious enough to carry daily essentials and come in various sizes, colors, and designs.

3. Caring for Your Handbag

To ensure that your handbag remains in good condition, it's important to care for it properly:

a. Regular Cleaning: Depending on the material, clean your handbag regularly with a damp cloth or a specialized cleaner. For leather bags, use a leather conditioner to maintain their softness and prevent cracking.

b. Proper Storage: Store your handbag in a cool, dry place, away from direct sunlight. Stuff the bag with tissue paper or a soft cloth to help maintain its shape when not in use.

c. Avoid Overloading: Avoid overloading your handbag with heavy items, as this can cause the straps to stretch or break. Carry only what you need to prevent unnecessary wear and tear.

Conclusion

A handbag is more than just an accessory; it's a reflection of your style and a practical tool for carrying your essentials. By choosing the right size, material, and design, you can find a handbag that not only complements your outfit but also meets your daily needs. Whether you prefer a spacious tote, a chic crossbody, or an elegant clutch, there's a perfect handbag for every girl. Invest in a quality handbag by Bags Etcetera that you love, and it will serve as a stylish companion for years to come.

[kimludcom]

SPECIFICATIONSTypes of bags: Shoulder & HandbagsStyle: Preppy StyleShape: Casual TotePlace Of Origin: HE BEI ProvincePlace Of Origin: HE BEI  ProvincePattern Type: PatchworkOrigin: Mainland ChinaNumber of Handles/Straps: twoModel Number: B8W206Main Material: CanvasLining Material: PolyesterInterior: Interior Zipper

[fashioneditswebsite]

How to style the summer tote

Whether you’re reclining on the coast or persevering in the city – here are the tote styles you should be sporting. Once associated with museum merchandise and big food shops – the capacious tote has had a revival. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Vicky Montanari (@vicmontanari) This season, the humble bag has become an elevated staple. From beachy raffia to office-smart chic, here’s how to style the ever-so-versatile tote this summer. 1. Summer in the city View this post on Instagram A post shared by Rita Montezuma (@ritamontezuma) “Portuguese girl” fashion, the colorful TikTok trend reacting to the sleek and straightforward “Scandi aesthetic,” saw a rise in bold primary colors, maximalist prints, and chunky accessories. This trend saw the revamp of the classic canvas tote, elevating it with stripes and stitching. This colorful take on the innocuous tote is a great way to bring summer brights into your wardrobe, paired with a simple neutral base. LIZZIE PATCH JUMBO BAG 2. By the beach The world’s most popular and longed-for bag is undoubtedly the Hermes Birkin. But thanks to summer’s hottest trend, a close second is the late model’s other favorite bag: the raffia basket. Synonymous with French fashion and summer style, raffia and woven bags are no longer confined to the traditional basket silhouette. Slouchy totes have become a cult classic; styled with floaty summer dresses or smart tailored trousers, raffia is one of the most versatile totes for the summer. Oroton showcased a variety of raffia totes in their S/S Resort collection (Alamy/PA) NAGHED- Havana Medium Stripe Tote Bag $390 3. Means business While most of us would like to spend our summers by the beach with a tote filled with nothing but books, that isn’t the reality. A transitional leather tote must be in your summer style canon if you're going from the office to after-work forays. From slouchy suede to boxy leather, a neutral-toned tote can smarten up any outfit while accommodating your laptop and a change of shoes. The leather tote is the transitional staple for summer to autumn, paired with a lightweight blazer and casual court shoes. Quince Italian Leather Tall Zip Top Tote $119.90 4. Off duty If you’ve ever indulged in the ‘quiet luxury’ or ‘coastal grandma’ aesthetic, you’ve undoubtedly seen the American-branded L.L. Bean sturdy canvas tote served up on your newsfeed. Understated and practical, this tote is easy to miss, but it has led to a rise in plain white canvas accented with navy, scarlet red, or tan colors. A simple plain canvas often works a treat, conjuring images of Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy in the Hamptons, but if you want to elevate the bag for a more innovative look, opt for leather detailing. This helps the bag traverse from coast to city paired with a slouchy knit, plain shirt, and denim shorts. Lands’ End Extra Large Zip Top Canvas Tote Bag, 5. Evening plans Evening bags are usually associated with small, fiddly clutches that fit no more than an old iPhone 5 and lipstick. Thankfully, the rise of glamorous totes means you can add that extra layer to your bag. Bon-Bonite Silver gray leather handbag Metallic has stormed the style guides from sneakers to accessories – and the tote is no exception. The metallic tote is the perfect summer accomplice, paired with denim and chunky accents. Read the full article

[littlegirlsclothing]

Summer is here and Mia Belle Girls has a brand new style guide to make your fashionista look her loveliest from playgrounds to party-mode! Introducing My Perfect Spring Butterfly Skirt 3PC Set and cute accessories to complete the look! Read until then end to earn $5 off this 'fit!

Butterfly Skirt Set:

Perfect fairytale moments await your girl in our Pink Butterfly Skirt Set. This 3-piece ensemble has everything her spring wardrobe needs. Featuring a magical skirt adorned with 3D butterfly appliqués, a crisp white top, and a charming pink collared vest, she'll look oh-so-adorable in this ensemble! Whether she's playing in the garden or attending a special occasion, this set is sure to make her feel like the princess she is.

L.O.L. SURPRISE! Center Stage Canvas Sneakers:

We can't wait to see her twirl in our L.O.L. SURPRISE! Center Stage Canvas Sneakers. These soft pink sneakers are the epitome of sweetness, decked out with pearl-accented ribbon laces and finished off with darling bows in the back. Let her take center stage in her everyday fashion with these delightful sneakers that blend style and comfort effortlessly.

Double Bow Thin Headband:

Cute and sophisticated, our Double Bow Thin Headband is the perfect topping to her favorite outfits. Finished with a double bowknot detail for a touch of added charm, this headband is available in the prettiest candy colors that are ALL grab-worthy! Whether she's dressing up for a tea party or a playdate with friends, this headband adds a whimsical flair to any look.

Heart-Shaped Quilted Crossbody Handbags:

Every girl loves shoes and handbags, even the mini ones do! Our cute little heart-shaped quilted crossbody handbags with pearl handles are the perfect accessory for your little fashionista. Available in different colors, she can mix and match them with her outfit of the day, adding a touch of fun and flair to her ensemble. Let her express her unique style with these adorable handbags that are as functional as they are fashionable.

At Mia Belle Girls, we believe in making every moment magical for your little princess. With our enchanting outfits and accessories, she'll shine bright and embrace her inner charm with confidence and style! 

Earn $5 OFF your next purchase! Leave a comment below on where you would wear this outfit and we'll email you a gift card as thanks!

[trendinbags01]

Stylish Handbags for Girls: The Ultimate Guide For Top Trends 

Handbags are more than just functional accessories; they are a statement of style and personality. For girls, a stylish handbag can complement their outfit, boost their confidence, and make a fashion statement. In this guide, we’ll explore the top trends in handbags for girls, the benefits of owning stylish bags for girls handbags, and tips for choosing the perfect one.

Top Trends in Handbags for Girls

Mini Bags Mini bags are a hot trend that shows no signs of slowing down. Despite their small size, they pack a punch in terms of style. Perfect for carrying essentials like a phone, keys, and lipstick, mini bags are ideal for girls who want to keep it light and chic.

Backpack Purses Combining functionality with fashion, backpack purses are perfect for girls on the go. These bags offer ample space without compromising on style. They come in various materials, from leather to canvas, and can be dressed up or down.

Crossbody Bags Crossbody bags are a versatile option for girls who value convenience. These bags can be worn across the body, leaving hands free. They come in various sizes and styles, making them suitable for casual outings or more formal events.

Tote Bags Tote bags are a classic choice for girls who need a bit more space. Whether for school, shopping, or a day out, tote bags offer plenty of room while still looking stylish. Look for totes with unique prints, textures, or embellishments to make a statement.

Bucket Bags Bucket bags are known for their distinctive shape and spacious interior. They are both stylish and practical, making them a favorite among girls. Whether in leather, suede, or a trendy fabric, bucket bags add a touch of sophistication to any outfit.

Benefits of Owning a Stylish Handbag

Enhances Outfit A stylish handbag can instantly elevate any outfit. Whether you're wearing jeans and a t-shirt or a fancy dress, the right bag can add a touch of elegance and complete your look.

Boosts Confidence Carrying a bag that reflects your style and personality can boost your confidence. When you feel good about your accessories, it shows in your overall demeanor.

Practicality While style is important, functionality should not be overlooked. A good handbag provides ample space to carry your essentials, keeping them organized and easily accessible.

Versatility Stylish handbags are versatile and can be used for various occasions. From school to social events, a well-chosen bag can adapt to different settings, making it a valuable addition to your wardrobe.

Investment Piece High-quality handbags can be an investment piece. They are often durable and can last for years, providing value for money. Classic styles never go out of fashion, making them a timeless addition to your collection.

Tips for Choosing the Perfect Handbag

Consider Your Needs Think about what you will use the bag for. Do you need something spacious for school or something small for social outings? Understanding your needs will help you choose the right size and style.

Focus on Quality Invest in a high-quality bag that will stand the test of time. Check the stitching, material, and hardware to ensure durability. A well-made bag will not only look better but also last longer.

Match Your Style Choose a bag that reflects your personal style. Whether you prefer classic, trendy, or quirky designs, there is a handbag out there for you. Don’t be afraid to experiment with colors, patterns, and textures.

Comfort is Key Make sure the bag is comfortable to carry. Try it on and check the straps and weight. A stylish bag should not sacrifice comfort, especially if you plan to carry it for extended periods.

Versatility Opt for a bag that can be used in multiple settings. Neutral colors and classic designs are often the most versatile, easily transitioning from day to night and casual to formal occasions.

Conclusion

Stylish handbags for girls are more than just accessories; they are a reflection of personality and style. From mini bags to tote bags, the options are endless. When choosing a handbag, consider your needs, focus on quality, and ensure it matches your style and comfort. With Bags Etcetera’s right handbag, you can enhance your outfit, boost your confidence, and carry your essentials in style